Posted on by palmtreemomma

Re-finding Home

Getting into my car for the long ride to Georgia was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. We had just spent our last weekend together with a circle of friends. They lovingly surrounded us and led us in a quiet ceremony to mark the ending of our 25 years together. After tying our hands together they had us sit facing each other. We each spoke words of love and letting go to the other. Then they untied our hands and had us sit back to back to show we are now supporting each other, as they sang a beautiful song over us. A song about coming home.

We had one last day with the kids. Sharing coffee, laughter and cinnamon rolls. Hiking around the lake and cooking dinner together after loading my car for the move to my new home.

We said goodbye under the glow of the full moon as it hung low in the newborn light of morning. Though my car was packed to the brim, I found room for a box of tissues. Which I would reach for many times along the way.

As the day stretched long, my tears lessened. By the time I reached the South Carolina line, something shifted and the air began to smell like home.

By late afternoon I had crossed into Georgia where the palmettos and live oaks sang to me. A song about coming home. I pulled into the driveway of my new home, exhausted but relieved, and found the keys my agent had left for me. After a quick peek at the house, I unloaded everything. Then headed to the nearest Target to buy cleaning supplies so I could quickly sweep and mop the floors before unrolling my mat for the night.

home

First thing the next morning, after a cup of dark, rich coffee, I drove out to the ocean and felt the weight of a thousand decisions and worries roll off my shoulders. The gentle waves a welcoming gesture from mother earth. I knew deep within my bones that I was finally home.

The betrayal still hurts at times. And I have moments of confusion and overwhelm in a new city. But I have no doubt that this is where I am meant to be for this next phase of my life. I will always remember the precious love of people and places that were home to me for the last phase of life. But right now, I have found a place of belonging here. Near the ocean where I often see dolphins playing in the water, their sleek bodies gracefully arching above the waves as I stroll the shores. Some mornings the ocean greets me with big beautiful shells and always with the laughter of her waves.

I came to this place alone. And yet I am finding that you are never truly alone when you are at one with yourself, the earth, and her creator.

synchronicity

There is an interesting phenomenon at work. So many things are unfolding for me with striking synchronicity. I met a new friend whose story mirrors my own. I have found lovely pieces of repurposed furniture that feel like they were designed just for me. I’ve been warmly welcomed by neighbors and total strangers. Housewarming gifts sent by dear friends. So many things falling into place in ways I could not have imagined.

And yet, these things didn’t just happen. I had to get into my car, alone, that morning in late May. And before that, I had to make some really hard decisions.

The last few months have been a blur of filling out paperwork and dividing things. Turns out that even an amicable divorce isn’t easy. Not that I ever thought it would be. But at every turn there were more decisions to be made, signatures required, boxes to be filled, exhausting conversations, and letting go.

There have been moments of sheer terror. So many people have told me that I’m so strong. That I’m teaching them how to be brave. I guess brave looks like bursting into tears at the sight of special mementos and then dividing them up and packing up your share. I suppose strong can look like curling into a fetal position and holding yourself tight and then sitting at your computer to set up the electric service in your new home.

Being brave and strong does not mean being a person who does not feel terror, grief or loss. It means you feel all these things, but keep following the path anyway. Because you know in the deepest part of yourself that this is the only way home.

Re-finding home

Being so open and vulnerable with our story has put us in the position to be safe people for others who are going through something similar. And there are many folks out there that are not ready to loose the only home they can imagine. Even if the relationship is all but lifeless. It’s truly terrifying to leave the familiar, even if the familiar is a painful or impossible situation. I get it. Have struggled long and hard with this.

Whatever your situation, if you are self-aware and doing the inner work, you will know if you are truly “home” right now or not. And if you are not, but want to be, if a quiet barefoot back-roads bluejeans kind of country girl can do it, so can you. But if you wait until you are no longer afraid, you will never do it. Courage is hearing a new song about coming home and then getting up and following it while you are still afraid. Bravery is all about shaking with fear but doing it anyway.

Not all of us were born turtles, with our forever home attached to our back. But we can all learn to swim towards the people and places that are singing us home.

Want to hear more? You can also find me on Instagram @maritajmiller and Facebook Beyond The Cocoon. Drop me a line if you want to be added to my email list.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

How It Should Be

This is how it should be.


The world on the edge of its seat. Holding a collective breath. Calling out the monsters. Sending up prayers for peace. Linking invisible fingers to push back the violence.


Some of us are seeing bravery for the first time. Raw, pure utter bravery that stems from love. Love for a country. Ukraine. For its children and grandchildren. Love for freedom. For home. Old men who show up at the front lines. Young men who have never held a real weapon before. Doing what they can with what they have. Following a leader who refuses to run and hide. Volunteers from neighboring countries crossing the border to help.


Neighboring countries opening up borders to give shelter to refugees. Changing policies quickly to save lives. Finding ways to accommodate. To welcome.

This is how it should be.


We post pictures of Russian protesters. Peacefully risking their lives for what they believe in. We sit in awe of their bravery. Knowing the world may never see them again. So we pray for their safety.


This is how it should be.


Violence should be condemned. Heroes should be sung. Children should be sheltered. Homelands should be safe.


And I’m so glad the world seems to be coming together to decry this violence. This utter ruthless violence that speaks not of strength but of a bully.


But honestly, there’s a place in my heart that is heavy. For all the other heroes left unsung. All the black and brown children left un-sheltered. The trans kids who even now are having laws made that threaten their very existence. The refugees from countries like Afghanistan, who have had a long history of living under Russia’s violence, being turned away. Black and brown protesters attacked for walking peacefully in their cities. Parents with a different skin tone than ours, criticized for fleeing their own war torn home and told to go back to their country.

Compassion should not be selective.


Like a mother’s womb, it grows and swells to hold and protect the life it shelters. Compassion is marked with stretch marks. Gentle hands caressing the places its been kicked from the inside. It recognizes life and protects it. Whether Ukrainian, Syrian, Afghani, Honduran, Guatemalan, Congolese, Rohingya or Uighur . Straight or queer. Muslim or Christian. Male or Female.


So maybe the next time you see Black Lives Matter protesters holding signs on the street corner of your city, you will remember how you admired the Russian protesters. Maybe you can find the courage to get out of your car and go stand with them. Plant your feet beside theirs. Bear witness to their stories of courage. Their fight for a world that is safe for their babies to grow up in. Like the Russian protesters, they know they too could disappear. It happens. Even in these United States. Maybe you will choose to stand with those who are denouncing violence. Believe their stories. This is how it should be.


Perhaps the next time you see a young mother speaking to her children in a language you do not understand, you will remember the language of compassion. Instead of telling her to go back to her country, you will welcome her to yours. This is how it should be.


I hope that next time you see a person who doesn’t quite fit into any gender box that you are familiar with. Or is wearing their colors and being unabashedly authentic. Perhaps you will remember the bravery of Ukraine. Perhaps you can dig down and find some of that bravery yourself and be a safe person for queer folks in your community. This is how it should be.


You see, you can either be a monster or you can help fight them.